


three days on a drunken sin

by orphan_account



Category: The 100
Genre: Angsty Stuff, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 03:17:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3794647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So there's a wedding... and Bellamy ain't very happy about it. Basically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	three days on a drunken sin

**Author's Note:**

> i'm listening to work song right now hence the title...  
> So maybe I haven't written anything since I was like 14? (I'm 22 now, it's been a while) And all of a sudden I felt like it so please don't judge me for how inevitably terrible this is.

It was harder than he ever thought it could be, and he knew it would be one of the most difficult things he'd have to go through. Not that he hadn't had his fair share of difficult, but come on, watching the one person he loved marry another man? That's up there near the top of the list. At least he decides it is, considering the feeling he gets every time he thinks about it. 

It was like walking around with a knife stuck in his gut, every time he saw them together it was like someone was twisting the blade farther and farther inside him. Anytime someone mentioned her name, it twinged again. It felt like he'd never imagined it could, and he didn't think it could be worse. That was of course until the 'big day' came around. 

He had to go. Octavia had told him in no uncertain terms, he had to 'man up', he was putting on that damn suit and he was coming. He didn't have to be happy about it but he had to show up. She ordered him around in the way only Octavia could get away with and she'd left him with a firm kiss on the cheek and a squeeze to the shoulder. He sighed heavily, focusing all his energy on pulling himself out of bed and to his feet. Gathering his things he headed to the shower to get ready for the shittest day ever. 

\--- 

He squirmed in his seat, pulled at his tie and collar which were cutting off his air supply. He threw his head back and stared at the high vaulted ceiling of the church, taking in all of the decoration, the glimmering paintings and intricate mosaics that covered them. He gazed at the portraits and tried to recall the bible stories that went along with them, and when he failed he turned to his favourite myths, going over each and every detail just to take his mind of his current situation.

He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest and thanked himself for the earlier decision to sit at the back near the doors. He felt the gentle breeze coming through the doors, easing his discomfort mildly. He felt himself calm down slightly, until the gentle sound of an acoustic guitar brought him back to the present. Of course she would have said no to the organ, too stuffy, too traditional. The melody which in any other situation would have been calming and rather nice to listen to made his blood pressure shoot up, his collar once again becoming his enemy and he tried, he tried hard not to let the panic show. 

Then she appeared. 

Major downside of choosing the back of the church, she was standing right beside him, waiting to start walking to her future husband. He could spout cliché after cliché about how beautiful and radiant she looked, truthfully that's how he felt anytime he saw her, but he would admit that she had somehow outdone herself today. The light that bleached in from the open doors illuminated her blonde hair that had been intricately braided around her head, her white dress glowed in the early afternoon light. She clutched onto a small bunch of blue and lilac flowers, which he thought was strange. He assumed she'd go for peonies, her favourites. (really Bellamy, is that the most important detail right now?) Seeing her there, so close, just drove that blade even farther into his heart, twisting as it went with every step that she took up the aisle and away from him. 

He saw Octavia enter in her pale blue bridesmaid dress, he caught her eye and she gave him that look of hers, telling him she was there for him. It hardened his resolve slightly, as he stood there watching that head of blonde hair walk away from him and into the arms of someone else. 

\---

It was over. He had made it. Barely. 

He'd almost ran out during the vows because damn if hearing her promise herself and her life to someone else didn't hurt more in reality than in the many many times he'd tortured himself with the idea. Now he was slumped into an uncomfortable chair at the reception, yes thank you Octavia. Apparently the wedding wasn't enough, he had to stick around 'at least for dinner' and then he could go home and mope in a vat of whiskey. He doesn't know what she thinks she was achieving out of this endeavour other than making him feel even worse, surrounded by happy conversation and couples dancing. 

Apparently the world was intent on really rubbing in the 'shittest day ever' thing because of course she came to talk to him. Of course she did. He gripped his glass for dear life as he saw her come his way, ducking his head hoping that if he didn't see her she couldn't see him. (that didn't work, funnily enough) 

"Bell," one syllable, all it took to drive that knife home even farther. Her voice was rough, probably from all the greeting and conversation of the day. It took all of his strength to drag his gaze up to meet hers. What he saw there hurt him more than anything. 

He could take the pain if it meant she was happy, if she was doing what she had to do for her, but the things he saw in her eyes right now didn't say that. Her eyes, ice blue and so familiar to him, said all the things he was feeling himself. He would of course think he was delusional but they always had this knack of reading each other. The only person he could do that with was Octavia, and that's how he knew they had something special. 

He saw that familiar strength of hers, a harshness that said she was ready for battle, but he knew that beneath that steely armour there lay defeat. She gave him a tight smile, slumping down inelegantly into the seat beside him, she said nothing but her eyes never left his. It took him a good few minutes before he could gear his throat up to mutter "Congratulations", the roughness in his voice reflecting hers. He heard her inhale a heavy breath beside him and it felt like a lifetime before he heard her utter her quiet thanks in return. 

They continued looking at each other, not knowing what to say, both knowing that there probably weren't words to explain all of what they were feeling anyway. She reached over and placed her cool hand over his, still gripping onto his glass for dear life. She squeezed gently before letting go and moving to stand up, not yet breaking eye contact. She nodded almost imperceptibly at him, he could see tears welling up in her eyes and then she was gone in a twirl of white and gold. He sat there frozen, stunned, exhausted. How could a five minute silence make him feel like that? All they had done was look at each other? He tried to tell himself not to read too much into any of it, he was just seeing what he wanted to see (but really, he asked himself, is that what he wanted to see? Wouldn't he rather see her happy?) 

After he had unfrozen his limbs and inhaled the last of his drink, he decided to get out of there. There's only so much emotional torture a man can take in a day and the first dance was coming up so he thought he'd save himself the trouble. Throwing his jacket over his shoulder he glanced around for Octavia. 

Her bridesmaid dress made her easy to pick out, she was across the room sitting with Lincoln, a lazy smile gracing her face as she leaned her head on his shoulder. The sight warmed him a bit, knowing that happiness existed and he was glad his sister seemed to have found it. He knew she'd want him to tell her he was leaving but he really couldn't face bumping into Clarke or anyone else he might come across. 

The cold air that pelted him in the face as he exited the hotel was welcome, clearing some of the fog from his head. He inhaled it gratefully and decided to walk home, hoping to further clear his head. 

\---

He sat on the steps of his building for a while, a cigarette in hand and feeling like a biggest cliché in the world for a little while. He'd gotten rid of his tie as soon as he could, the top few buttons of his shirt were now open, letting some of the cold air calm him. He sat like this for a while before deciding that going to the bar on the corner might be a better option than sitting here or in his apartment brooding. 

He went straight in for the good stuff, intending to do what he did best: get royally fucked and make some terrible decisions. He ended up being dragged by his belt up to some dingy apartment, kicking textbooks and crap out of the way before tumbling into bed with some girl who's name he didn't know. That wasn't really a problem considering he spent the night murmuring Clarke's name into her neck, trying his best to restrain himself but of course that didn't work. 

As he fumbled around the dim room picking up his shirt and pants he felt predictably terrible. He pulled his wrinkled clothes on and left without a look back at the girl. (He'd probably feel bad about that in the morning but they both knew what this was, so he resigned himself not to care) 

After a wobbly walk home he finally threw himself into his bed, not bothering to get changed. With his eyes closed, the world spinning sickeningly around him, he fell into a restless sleep. 

He dreamed about ice blue eyes and golden hair and the woman he'd never have.

**Author's Note:**

> Very very vague I know. This just kind of came out of nowhere so I just went with it :) thanks for reading!


End file.
